Driving north on a rural highway as straight as the line for your signature on a contract, I stop to look at a ribbon of thick black smoke on the horizon. Just me and a big black horse standing on the pasture watching the smoke rise into the clear, flat sky. The horse, as black as the smoke, ignores me until I get too fidgity and then ambles toward me, washes me with his liquidy black eyes and before turning again to the rising smoke. The horse and the smoke seem inseperable, ethereal dark characters on a yellow and blue landscape.